“It won’t work if you try to truncate the natural environment,” she said angrily. “The watershed doesn’t know or care about political divisions. It just is.”
He pointed at her. “Ye better care about ‘em, lass. They exist for your protection.”
“The land belongs to everyone at once, regardless of religion or income, or…”
“We do not make plans for the Papists!” His voice roared. Timid Lady Talbot put her hands over her ears, and the vice-president stood, his gavel pointing at Sloan, who ignored him. Sloan pointed again at Casey, his face red. He spoke softly, but with more threat.
“Ye, Casey Andrews, have disregarded our laws, our rules, and our way of life, from the day ye got into town. Ye do what ye want, and ye manipulate the people around ye with deceit and lies. And when you’re found out, ye smile real pretty and say you’re sorry. Ye use your feminine charms to keep people under your spell. Ye charm the rich and influential so ye can spread your poison. You’re a danger to this society and to this town. I’m callin’ for your dismissal!”
The small crowd broke into whispers and gestures, some nodding in agreement, most looking uncertain and afraid. Casey held onto her plan and glared at him. “The only thing I disregard is your bigotry, Mr. Sloan. I recognize that all kinds of people live in this town and they all deserve a healthy and beautiful environment!”
Sloan looked over at the secretary, who had stopped taking notes and was staring in astonishment. “I move that Casey Andrews be stricken from the membership of the Horticultural Society, and not allowed to attend meetings. Due to her avowed disregard for the wishes of the Society, and incitement of members.”
Lady Talbot was weeping, but she said loudly, “Flowers. I just wanted some flowers around town. Why do we have to argue like this?”
“I second the motion.” The speaker was in the back, a businessman whom Casey did not know well. He stood and bowed slightly to Lady Talbot. “It is my hope, madam, that we can rid ourselves of troublemakers and get back to planting those flowers.”
Casey’s mouth fell open and she closed it with a snap. I’m the troublemaker! That’s really rich!
Mrs. Herceforth raised her hand and at the president’s nod, she stood. “I’d like to remind all of us that Mrs. Andrews is very young. We do her a disservice with the phrase ‘troublemaker.’ She is only too idealistic, perhaps. Youth seldom understands the larger ways of the world. I’d rather we let her stay and continue to nurture her to maturity. She has a great deal of talent and expertise that have been very useful to this society. I think we can all agree on that.”
“Aye,” Sloan said. “Maybe she doesn’t intend to cause trouble, yet that’s what always follows her. She never minds her place, either; she’s always out lookin’ for some way to meddle. She’s better off at home, taking care of her family, and learning how to behave herself in society.”
The murmurs that followed this were louder and more sincere. Casey fought down her fury and humiliation at the injustice of it, gripping the corner of the paper in her hand, causing it to crumple.
The president was still holding the other end of Casey’s plan and she slowly released it, glancing with regret at Casey before facing the group. Her voice shook. “The motion has been made and seconded, to strike Casey Andrews from our rolls. All in favor, please raise your hands.”
Far too many of them raised a hand immediately and Casey watched, as after a few moments, the stragglers joined them. Mrs. Herceforth sat grimly silent, hands in her lap and tears on her cheeks. Her lip trembled as she gazed at Casey.
“Let the record show…” the president stopped, unwilling to say what the record showed. “If there is no more business, this meeting is adjourned,” she said and they all stood, moving toward their cloaks at the back. But Mike Sloan walked forward, toward Casey, who was still standing in front, holding her plan in front of her like a shield. Everyone turned to watch. Mrs. Herceforth began moving quietly closer to the front.
Casey watched him come, tense, her eyes burning with unshed tears. He stopped in front of her and her chin went up. Her voice was ice. “Are you going to try stripping me again, Mr. Sloan?”
His face flushed with anger, and he clenched his hands into fists as he glared at her. Whatever he had been going to say, she saw him decide against it. Instead, he reached with both hands, and taking hold of her plan in its middle section, he tore it, pulling the Catholic section away from the rest and ripping it in several pieces, before turning and walking out.
“Ah, love.” Tom was there when she got home and he held her as she wept. He had not received a very coherent description of the evening due to her crying, but he had enough to know how humiliated she was. The ripped plan lay at their feet in the parlor. He stroked her hair, dropping kisses on her temple, feeling helpless to do anything useful.
“It’s a wonderful plan, Casey. I was so proud of you, watching you put it together. They would not have gotten a better plan if they’d paid a professional a hundred pounds for it.” He tilted her face up to look at him. “When you’re ready, love, you need to fix it and put it someplace safe. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe it’s too “American,” this idea that people of different backgrounds can work together. And too advanced. Remember, you have a hundred years of history and experience that the rest of us don’t have.”
She nodded reluctantly and he continued, “There’ll be a time when Belfast is ready for your plan. We’ll keep trying to get people to listen and maybe it won’t be long. There are people out there who want peace, sweetheart. They’ll like your plan.”
She choked on a bitter laugh. “If the people who plant flowers don’t want peace, who will?”
He hugged her tighter. “Some of them do. And some of the people who build ships, and some of the people who work in stores, or sew clothes, or cook food. There’s people everywhere, Casey, who want peace. They just aren’t very loud about it.”
She seemed to recover a bit as she listened to him and her smile, while small, was suddenly amused. “You would’ve made a great hippie, Tom Andrews.”
He looked alarmed. “If those are the same people Sam has told me about, I don’t think so. I know I’m not ready for Rock and Roll.”
She giggled at the awkward way he said the phrase, and let him help her fold the ripped sections of her plan. Then she locked them in a drawer in the library.
It was several months before she could make herself look at them again. Sometimes she just stared at the drawer. Once she actually touched the handle, her fingers folding around it, before she snatched the hand back and went outside to work in her own garden.
When Tom or Sam asked her about it, she just shrugged it off and said she’d get to it when she was ready. Just looking at the drawer brought back the humiliation and heartbreak of that night. She couldn’t bear the thought of actually looking at the pages.
But she couldn’t forget about it. Resentment simmered in her, that people she thought were her friends would turn on her so easily, that Sloan so effortlessly succeeded in obstructing her, that Tom went to work, day after day, with the man who had set her up as a sworn enemy.
That wasn’t fair, she knew. When Sloan, the next day at work, had tried to act as if everything were normal, Tom confronted him with quiet rage. Word had gotten around. Tom told her that the majority of workers had turned against Sloan, ignoring him outside of work-related discussions. Most of the less fanatic members of his evangelical group had dropped out. When it came to respect at Harland & Wolff, Tom was the clear winner, and no one was happy at Sloan’s treatment of Casey.